


Evolution

by taichara



Category: Weiß Side B (Manga)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:54:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4889998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Free regains control of his faculties over time, what else may come trickling through -- and what cost secrets when it does?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liviania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviania/gifts).



He woke with a scream lodged in his throat.

No sound actually escaped, of course; he's never once given free rein to that impulse, even if he's not sure why. But the furniture, now --

The bedframe creaked warningly even as the last of the pain and the fury -- melting like snow in the rain -- drained away, leaving behind a lingering discontent. Carefully, oh so carefully, he reached out to steady ... himself? the frame? ... planting a hand that could crush steel, and human skulls, like china cups flat against the smooth surface of the blocky night-stand.

Only after the bed stopped promising imminent collapse did he heave himself out of it, dragging half the bedclothes with him (chilly; the cold is unpleasant) to stare out the little window at the night-time rains.

_There is something ..._

Something that the others haven't told him. Something Michel hasn't told him? Reasonable; it's all that same _look_ , the way they watch him, the way they measure his movements to see what he does, how he reacts.

They watch where he places his hands, and how, and why.

They think he hasn't started to notice.

A blank slate. Michel explained that concept, once he'd had the ability to grasp it: there had been a great trauma, and the drugs inflicted on him the team constantly referenced, and many other things besides, and the final result was that his life before all this had been wiped away. 

_They expected a reaction._

_I have none for them._

All he remembered was Michel, and occasionally others, and first only in that one small room; vague and soft-edged memories, really, people and concepts he could barely grasp and still failed to explain his thoughts on as often as not. Awareness came with time, but the words ... those were continuing to be elusive. But it _would_ happen, also in time.

Even so -- it was clear enough that they reacted to him, in ways they didn't with each other. Or with visitors to the shop. And Michel ... there was another thing. 

Michel taught him. Showed him what to do, how to do it. Explained ... the world, explained everything. Stayed by his side, patient, watchful, playfully warning him when a situation was about to go badly. And, yet --

_... 'Parent'._

_I know the word, now._

He knew it, knew the concept, and the understanding that this was a very ... different sort of situation than the 'parents' he saw, with children, in the streets and the parks. Roles were, apparently, reversed. And yet --

_It is still the same._

_I couldn't be, without his help._

But what _was_ he ... oh, that was the question that had crawled its way up from some nameless deep; and the more time that passed, the more it sharpened in his mind even as he own thoughts grew sharper.

And it brought the dreams of blood and pain and fire.

But why were there flames, and why it seem _different_ somehow; and why was a different, very different Michel present, if only half the time?

_Did I watch you instead, once?_

_Or do I want to?_

_Is that it?_

What were the dreams, if dreams they were? Something his sleeping mind stitched together from scraps and tidbits of news on the television? Some remnant of his imprisonment, some other change the chemicals still worked on him?

Or ... something from _before_?

Carefully -- oh so carefully -- he reached out, pressed his hand against the window's cool surface.

Fragile. Like so many things, so many people, were fragile ...

_'You have to be patient' ..._

How many times had he heard those words? And it was true enough; he'd needed to learn patience with himself and his limitations, even as he worked past them, as much as he'd needed to learn the same for the world around him that was too easily broken.

Perhaps this burning question would be no different.

_Yes. Michel._

_I will wait for the answer to arrive._

_And then ..._


End file.
